Jesse Mahler

Rust wages war

Its jowls convulse

An uncontrollable rhythm

Twitch

Jerk

And stare

Rust is

Ravaging internals of

Broken magazine stands

Soon filled to brim with towers;

Frost-worn windows,

An icy frame.

They sing raspy tunes

Coincide well with

My old earthen plating;

Sprouting mechanical fuse.

And they sing

Of men in the

Smoker section, with

Straight arms

And stern cufflinks.

Smooth black jackets

Rust seeping from the stitching

In fine strands.

Rust is burned and

From their mouths protrude

Ripples of

White mustaches.

They enter through the mouth

And do not bother to say hello

An unknown date:

It gathered on

My wall

I raised a finger

In protest.

Day turned night

I became weary

My finger lay limp

It pounced

My finger is now crippled

The rhythm appeared again

And it was closer

Twitch

Jerk

And stare.

A tear rolled down my face

The rust proceeded to gouge

My face is gone

My tear was taken away